“When faced with monstrosity, become the greater monster. The sting of victory will fade with time.”

When Flowridia, a witch granted power by an unknown demon, deceives an alluring foreign diplomat, she is promoted to a position of power to conceal her falsehood. Thrust into a world of politics and murderous ambition, she has her gentle heart and her Familiar to guide her – as well as a drunk Celestial with a penchant for illusion.

Meanwhile, Lady Ayla Darkleaf, Grand Diplomat of Nox’Kartha, smiles with predatory charm and wields her blades with a dancer’s grace. Flowridia falls into a toxic love affair, one she knows will end in heartbreak. But as Ayla’s legacy as a vampiric creature unfolds, Flowridia begins to see the broken woman behind the monster.

When a foreign emperor dies at the hands of a mysterious interloper, one who seeks to collect the greatest sources of power in the realms, Flowridia’s kingdom is charged to stop him. But Flowridia’s devotion becomes torn between duty to her own and the woman whose claws grip her heart.In the ensuing clash of Gods, Flowridia must choose her loyalties with care – the fate of kingdoms rest in her hands.

Excerpt:

The next morning,
twelve roses sat in a bouquet on her bedside table. Flowridia steadily blinked
into wakefulness, smiling fondly in the dim morning light.

The scratching
of a pen on paper alerted her to the presence beside her. She turned over, only
to see Ayla sitting in her bed, legs under the covers. The lithe woman, still
fully dressed and hair well-kempt, glanced down from the nondescript book in
her hand. The other held a pen. “Good morning,” Ayla said, and she turned the
book toward her.

Flowridia saw a
detailed ink drawing of her own sleeping image, her breath leaving her as she
studied the near-perfect likeness. Each individual strand of hair seemed ready
to burst from the page, her lips glossy, and even the gentle blemishes of her
face – her faint freckles and hints of scars – held a delicate beauty about
them. A stunning image, and Flowridia felt heat color her cheeks.

This was how
Ayla saw her. “It’s beautiful.”

“You can have
it. I have others like it,” Ayla said, and she ripped the page from the book
and leaned over to place it on Flowridia’s table. She set the book aside and
slid down next to Flowridia and the little wolf who slept beside her.

“I didn’t expect
you to be here,” Flowridia said softly, and when Ayla pressed their lips
together, she smiled wide.

A vicious grin
tugged at Ayla’s mouth as she pulled away. “What’s the worst Casvir can do?
Kill me?” She chuckled and snaked her arms around Flowridia’s waist, keeping
their bodies flush together. “Besides, I got carried away with drawing. After
you fell asleep, I realized how peaceful you are to watch.”

An odd
statement, and Flowridia raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought you already
knew that, with how often you’d snuck into my bedroom.”

“Clever girl,”
Ayla said, and she planted a kiss on Flowridia’s cheek.

Feeling brave,
Flowridia dared to add, “And you have other drawings like it, you said?”

A wide and
dangerous grin spread across Ayla’s face. “Most are from memory. But it’s been
a long time since I’ve had as pretty a subject as you.”

Somewhere in the
depths of Flowridia’s sense of self-preservation, she suspected she ought to
object to this, yet this sudden change in Ayla’s decorum, while jarring, wasn’t
unappreciated. Instead, she said, “How did you learn to draw so well?”

Ayla chuckled.
“When you’ve lived as many centuries as I have, you pick up a few hobbies.” Her
hand moved up to stroke Flowridia’s hair, her neck, and as she traced down,
Ayla flinched at the scar. She glanced down and leaned in to place a kiss at
the top, above the collar of Flowridia’s dress. “Give it time. It will fade.”

By Flowridia’s
side, the small wolf stirred, perhaps awakened by their conversing. In clumsy
motions, Demitri approached Ayla, even as she leaned away, visibly wary.

Ayla held her
gaze, her smile fading as she shook her head. “We both said terrible things.”
When she returned her attention to Demitri, Flowridia knew Ayla would say
nothing more.

“You mentioned
something else,” Flowridia dared to push. When she hesitated, Ayla reached over
to cup her cheek, softness returning to the vampiric woman’s expression. “Are
you The Endless Night?”

“Oh, Flowra,”
Ayla said, amusement in her words. “I promise, I am no demon.” She scattered
kisses across Flowridia’s forehead, and with each one Flowridia felt her body
relax. A firm kiss pressed against her lips. “No need to worry yourself.”

Ayla said
nothing more, instead continuing those sweet gestures. Each kiss brought a
deeper blush to her cheeks until, giggling, Flowridia dove in to return the
favor. Their lips met, and when her tongue parted Ayla’s lips, she reveled in
the soft moan her cold companion released.

With an apology,
she sent Demitri away. Alone with Ayla, Flowridia savored every unmapped curve
of her body, before finally settling at the valley between her legs.
Bitterness, she discovered, was the sweetest taste of all. Ayla’s pleasure rose
with the sun.

About the Author:

S D Simper has lived in both the hottest place on earth and the coldest, spans the employment spectrum from theater teacher to professional editor, and plays more instruments than can be counted on one hand. She and her wife share a home with their two cats and innumerable bookshelves.

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